


Shore Song

by NinetyWrites



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (the gentle kind), (which isn't a tag?), Band Literature, Fluff, I get the feeling that Grainger wouldn't mind this, M/M, Whistling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 13:45:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16766302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinetyWrites/pseuds/NinetyWrites
Summary: There’s a patch of sunlight that had drifted through the window sometime in the afternoon and nested itself in his hair, the fiery halo at comfortable odds with what must surely be a sea shanty of some sort being painted in the air with long, blue strokes.





	Shore Song

**Author's Note:**

> I hesitate to say that I'm back, as the last time I said that was about a year and a half ago. Let's just take this one fic at a time, yeah?
> 
> This fic heavily features [Molly on the Shore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66wSECRpWIY) by Percy Grainger. I recommend either listening before reading or doing a read-listen-read (it's short enough, after all).
> 
> Please enjoy!

Nursey knows there’s something different in the air from the second he steps into the Haus, Bon Iver sounding through his earbuds like an omen. He chalks the atmospheric difference up to the unusual vacancy of the place and shrugs, but there’s something still pulling at the back of his mind, a _no, that’s not it_ that refuses to leave. He could try to figure it out, but he really has to break ground on that sestina collection, so he turns to go upstairs.

His left foot hits the first step and that’s when he hears the whistling.

Whoever’s whistling is hitting a lot of notes, but it’s not frantic -- it’s relaxed, like whistling this brisk tune is an old habit that they’ve dearly missed. It’s got this Irish-sounding lilt to it, like something you’d hear on the soundtrack to an old Maureen O’Hara movie. The performance -- the only thing the sound could really be called -- is rhythmically solid and has little swells and decrescendos when the melody moves up and down. Nursey takes out his earbuds to try to hear the music better, art that it is. It sounds like it’s coming from the Haus kitchen, but he knows Bitty can’t whistle, certainly not this well.

He walks to the kitchen and sees Dex, alone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, scrubbing down a soapy plate in the sink. There’s a patch of sunlight that had drifted through the window sometime in the afternoon and nested itself in his hair, the fiery halo at comfortable odds with what must surely be a sea shanty of some sort being painted in the air with long, blue strokes. For a moment, he leans against the doorframe and admires the composition of the scene, but he can already hear his mama chastising him for staring like he’s six. So, he takes a different approach to appreciating the scene. 

“What’s that song, Dexy?” 

It’s good that the sink was full of water, because Dex _jumped_ , dropping the plate immediately and casting soap bubbles around him from the jerk of his arm. His face heated to match his hair. 

“It’s nothing, Nurse. Don’t you have something to do?”

_Oh, perfect, how am I gonna fix this?_ “Nah. I’ll help with dishes.”

Dex opened his mouth to protest, but Nursey was already grabbing a dishtowel and taking a place next to the sink. Dex, knowing that Nursey would not accept any arguments from him for refusing help, heaved a sigh and returned to his scrubbing.

They continued like that, washing, drying, and putting away dishes in a cold, silent rhythm until there were no dishes left. Nursey, knowing that Dex didn’t want him around, turned to leave the kitchen. He stepped over the threshold and-

“Wait.”

Nursey turned around, eyes widening in hope.

“You wanted to know what song I was whistling?”

Nursey nodded.

Dex continued, eyes looking anywhere but Nursey. “It’s, uh… it’s called ‘Molly on the Shore’? It’s this band piece that my mom really likes and that I’ve listened to a lot and… it just makes me think about home. In a good way, you know?”

“Yeah. Hey,” Nursey said, keeping his eyes on Dex. Dex looked back at him, and neither one broke eye contact. “That’s pretty cool, man. And I get it, you know? It’s good to have something from home to hold on to when you’re away.” Dex gulped, nodded. He looked relieved -- no, more than that. He looked understood. Nursey continued. ”Can we listen to it?”

Dex chuckled, his neck and shoulders relaxing. “Uh, sure. Let me just pull it up on my phone.”

They sat down at the kitchen table, sun still streaming through the window as the clarinets began the whirlwind melody through Dex’s phone speaker. Nursey glanced over at him. His eyes were closed, a gentle smile creeping onto his face.

_Home, indeed._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please comment if you have the time; it means a lot to me. (Yes, this includes constructive criticism.)


End file.
